


as greater things crumbled

by blueink3



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: But They've Gotten Better, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Patrick is a Good Listener, Ted is Actually Serious For Once, The Boyfriend Brotherhood, The Roses Were Not Good Parents, They Love their Roses, Tough Talks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22503112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueink3/pseuds/blueink3
Summary: [Ted]You got a minute?As much as Patrick misses David, he’s glad it’s not him because he’s reprimanded him enough for texting and driving, but he’s confused that it’s Ted. Though he and Ted are friendly, sometimes even going to each other’s places to watch a game, they’re by no means confidants. And 'You got a minute?' sounds like it precedes something more serious than 'Come over for a beer and some hockey.'Or, Ted learns about Alexis and David's less than stellar childhood and turns to Patrick. Naturally.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer & Theodore "Ted" Mullens, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Theodore "Ted" Mullens/Alexis Rose
Comments: 119
Kudos: 942





	as greater things crumbled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goodmorninglovelies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorninglovelies/gifts).



> Whose prompt was: Patrick and Ted discuss Alexis and David’s kind of crappy childhood.
> 
> “I do not miss childhood, but I miss the way I took pleasure in small things, even as greater things crumbled. I could not control the world I was in, could not walk away from things or people or moments that hurt, but I took joy in the things that made me happy.”  
> \- Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane

**[Ted]**   
**You got a minute?**

Patrick frowns down at his phone where it rests next to the cash in case David runs into any issues during his vendor pickup. They used to have a ‘no phones on the floor’ policy, but then David got a flat tire and couldn’t get a hold of Patrick whose phone was in the backroom and that was a fiasco that no one, including and perhaps particularly the Canadian Automobile Association, would like to repeat. 

As much as he misses him, he’s glad it’s not David because he’s reprimanded him enough for texting and driving, but he’s confused that it’s Ted. Though he and Ted are friendly, sometimes even going to each other’s places to watch a game, they are by no means confidants. And **You got a minute?** sounds like it precedes something more serious than just **Come over for a beer and some hockey.**

**_Of course. What’s up?_ **

The ellipses appear and disappear long enough for Patrick to grow concerned. 

**[Ted]**   
**If I hit the cafe, can I crash your lunch hour? My treat.**

There wasn’t a single pun in that entire text. It’s definitely serious. 

**_Sure. Everything okay?_ **

His response is quick this time: 

**[Ted]**   
**I think so. I’d just rather do this in person.**

**_...Okay._ **

Patrick continues to stare at the phone long after he hits ‘send’ on his text, anxiety gnawing at his insides. If this had to do with Alexis, surely Ted would go to David instead of him. Right? Unless it’s something _really_ not good and he needs advice on David _before_ going to him about Alexis. Oh.

Oh no.

With a slight groan at the loss of his drama-free Wednesday, he walks to the door and flips the sign to CLOSED five minutes early, but Ted must have texted from the Cafe because Patrick spots him exiting before he can even turn the lock. He makes his way across the street, brown paper bag in hand and smiles as he catches sight of Patrick through the window. 

“Hey, bud,” he says as Patrick opens the door. It sounds forced even though ‘glowingly optimistic’ seems to be Ted’s factory setting. “Sorry if this is presumptuous. Twyla told me your lunch order.” 

“Creature of habit,” he replies with a shrug. In all honesty, he had actually packed a sandwich so he wouldn’t need to leave the store since he’s the only one working, but it’ll keep until tomorrow. Or David can have it as a snack if he returns early. David likes snacks. 

He leads him to the back room (because David can spot a crumb on the floor like white fuzz on black cashmere) and indicates to the small sofa. Ted sits as Patrick pulls over a chair on the opposite side of the coffee table. He has a feeling that they’ll need more space for whatever this is than the loveseat allows. Besides, the only person he wants to share that with isn’t here. 

Ted busies himself unpacking the paper bag, setting up his sandwich as he nudges Patrick’s tuna melt towards him. Patrick watches him carefully, from the easy-to-please smile plastered on his face to the slight trembling of his fingers as he unfolds the napkins. 

Neither of them is going to be able to eat like this. 

“Ted,” he murmurs, and Ted stops fiddling with the plastic cutlery with a sigh, the facade falling quickly away. “What’s going on?” 

Ted leans back on the couch, fingers pulling at a loose thread on his scrubs as he worries his lower lip with his teeth. “Has David ever…” he trails off and Patrick’s eyebrows rise, urging him to continue. There are so many ways that sentence could end, and Patrick really needs him to get there quickly while also appearing to be the epitome of calm and patience. 

Ted sighs and rubs his forehead, before leaning forward once more and resting his elbows on his knees. Patrick mirrors him and tries to look encouraging. He’s not sure he succeeds. 

“Has David ever told you about his childhood?” is finally what comes out, and Patrick leans back heavily in the chair because that’s definitely not where he thought that sentence was going. 

“Um, sort of. Bits and pieces.” He tilts his head and studies the man across from him, sitting slumped in the back room of the business he and David built together. “Sometimes I ask. Most times I stay silent and the stories pour out, like David has just been hanging onto them until someone else can, I dunno…” he stops, trying to find the words he’s looking for, “share the burden.” 

Ted meets his gaze then. His eyes are - not hard, per se, but not warm and open the way they usually are when he greets literally _any_ living creature. 

But what he says next makes the point of this whole afternoon clear: “So it was, then. A burden.”

Oh. 

But Ted’s plowing on before Patrick can reply. “I mean - I never fooled myself into thinking Alexis lived a normal life. I’ve heard about the kidnappings and the drug mules and the coup d’etats. But she was at least a teenager then.” He pauses. “I think.” He says it in a way that conveys _I hope_ instead. Patrick can sympathize. 

Sure, David’s exploits were a _little_ less international, but Patrick knows what a typical Saturday night looked like for him in New York, back when the money flowed as smoothly and freely as the vodka and the hits of cocaine were traded as easily and quickly as bathroom blowjobs. 

Patrick still isn’t quite sure what exactly brought Ted to his door, though. The question must show on his face because Ted sighs and picks up a soggy fry from his styrofoam container and pops it in his mouth. 

“Alexis has never talked about her childhood.” 

“And… that bothers you?” Patrick asks, but Ted is already shaking his head as he swallows. 

“She’s never talked about her childhood until today,” he clarifies, picking at another fry. “It was flippant. Only in passing, really. I’m not sure I would have even noticed - in my defense, I was trying to declaw a cat - but when you’re a vet, certain words jump out at you. ‘Hospital’ is one of them.” 

Patrick nods, pulling a piece of melted cheese off his sandwich and wondering if whatever story rocked Ted’s world is one he’s heard before. 

Ted stops playing with his food and wipes his salty hands on a napkin, finally meeting Patrick’s gaze once more. “She said that the first time she ever went to the hospital, David had to be the one to call 911 because Mr. Rose was on some business trip and Mrs. Rose was passed out in the bathtub. The EMTs ended up having to pump her stomach before dealing with what turned out to be Alexis’ appendicitis. It ruptured just as they got to the ER.” He clears his throat and carefully too-carelessly tosses another fry into his mouth. “She was six.” 

Patrick swallows hard. David would have been nine. 

No, he hadn’t heard that story before. 

He tries to think about how scared David must have been to have his little sister in that much pain and being unable to make it better. Being unable to find an adult who could help. David tells him sometimes what it was like back then; how much he loved his sister and how hard he tried to keep her safe - even though he was a child himself. It’s something he’s only ever admitted at night in the dark under the safety of a blanket and the firm grip Patrick likes to keep around his waist. 

“David broke his leg,” he murmurs and Ted looks up, frowning at the non-sequitur. 

“What?” 

“David. He broke his leg when he was eight. No one was around and he’d fallen off a ladder in the attic while trying to get to his mother’s furs.” His heart warms at the image of little David reaching for a mink, before the sadness settles in once more. “No one thought to look for him until dinner. He screamed himself hoarse trying to get help, but... it was a big house. No one heard him. He said it was the scariest few hours of his life.” And that included parasailing in the Seychelles. Patrick licks his lips and smiles sadly. “That was my introduction to ‘The Raising of the Roses.” 

Ted tosses a napkin on his sandwich, apparently giving up on lunch. Patrick isn’t feeling particularly hungry either. 

“I can deal with the international escapades. I mean, I’m almost _charmed_ by the pirate stories, now that I know Alexis is like Mossad in Manolos. But when I think of her…” 

_Nearly dying_ , Patrick’s mind supplies while Ted holds his hand out in front of him, as if to indicate how tall six-year-old Alexis would stand. It’s not very tall at all. 

“I just - I feel so…” 

“Angry?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes, like someone has just lifted a boulder off his diaphragm. “And I know I have no place - ” he stops and his eyes go wide. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the Roses, I do - ”

“They’re different now,” Patrick offers because this is an argument he’s had with himself before. Many times. 

“But I still feel…” Ted gestures vaguely with his hands, but Patrick knows what he’s trying to say. Because he’s the only person Ted could have had this conversation with. He’s the only person who knows _exactly_ how he feels. 

“A pang somewhere around here?” he asks, pressing the tip of his forefinger into his sternum. 

“Yeah,” Ted whispers, voice cracking. “Something like that.” 

After all, they’re the only two people in the world in the unique and privileged position of getting to love and be loved by the Rose children. 

Patrick nods. “That’s normal.” 

“Oh.” Ted practically deflates. “It doesn’t go away?” 

“Not totally. It’s like a bruise that keeps getting poked with every new story I hear.” He shrugs, having long ago come to terms with his fate. “Eventually the stories will stop because there won’t be any new ones for me to learn. And then the bruise will heal.” 

“How do you do it?” 

“Do what?” 

“ _Live,_ knowing that Alexis and David - ”

“They weren’t alone,” he interrupts. “I know sometimes their stories make it seem that way, but they had people who cared deeply about them.” He smiles softly. “Has she told you about Adelina?” 

Ted shakes his head, and Patrick is almost envious of all of the stories he has yet to hear; stories full of blanket forts and midnight brownies and movie nights and Disney princess band-aids. 

“Then I won’t spoil it for you," he murmurs. "As for now,” he shrugs again, “I just love them. I love them both. I think that’s all we can do. No one’s perfect and we’re all a little damaged. Even those of us with more attentive parents than Johnny and Moira Rose.” 

And that's what it is - attentiveness. Patrick has never once doubted their love. 

Ted nods but continues staring morosely at his sandwich. Patrick watches him for a moment, remembering the emotional hole he too found himself in so many months ago with no one to offer a hand and pull him out. 

_A unique and privileged position._

“Look, I’ll tell you what,” he says, reaching over and stealing one of Ted’s soggy fries. “Whenever you get that pang, call me. I’ll come to you or you come to me. You don’t have to tell me what caused it and you _definitely_ shouldn’t tell me if you think it’s something Alexis wouldn’t want anyone but you to know. But this is a distinctive club we find ourselves in. We've gotta stick together." 

Ted nods again, lips pulling to the side in a smile. It's small, but it's something. 

“Can we get jackets?” he asks and Patrick snorts. 

“No, but we can get better food. C’mon,” he says, standing and holding out a hand, “I’m buying.” 

Ted takes it and Patrick hauls him to his feet, like he wishes someone had done for him when he first felt like this. Like he wishes someone had done for little David in that attic so many years ago. 

“You know,” Ted starts, the gleam back in his eye, “when a clock is hungry, it goes back four seconds.” 

**_There_ ** _he is,_ he thinks, even as he groans. 

“I changed my mind. You’re buying.” 


End file.
